


Tea Leaves and Potting Mix

by m0chi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0chi/pseuds/m0chi
Summary: Divination is a branch of magic that has allowed generations of esteemed witches and wizards to foresee the future. Margaery Tyrell, gifted student and school prefect, uses it to pick up girls.





	1. 1

“If I have to deroot one more bloody chomping cabbage, I’m telling Grandmother to kiss her grandson’s career in Herbology goodbye.”

Margaery laughed, watching Loras as he eyed the pot plant on their table with hooded eyes.

“That’s a Bubotuber, not a cabbage.” Margaery replied, pointing at the tell-tale marks on the stem, “How you managed to scrape an O for this subject is beyond me.” 

“How could I not? I’m a direct descendant of Olenna Tyrell,” Loras said, poking at the plant with his quill. The plant gave a violent shudder before turning into solid stone. “Herbology practically runs in my blood.”

“Mr Tyrell!” Professor Sprout called from the front of the class, “You would think that a sixth year herbology student like yourself would know better than to touch a plant without having studied them yet?”

“Naturally, Professor.” Loras called before grinning at Margaery.

“And anyway,” He continued, once Professor Sprout had walked out of earshot, “Herbology happens to be the one subject that I don’t have Renly to distract me. He hates plants.”

“I still can’t believe you chose half of your subjects based solely on the fact that Renly was or wasn’t doing them. Care of Magical Creatures - really, Loras? I know that Renly loves the class, but since when did you find flobberworms cute.”

At this remark, Loras’ eyebrows shot skyward. He looked as if Margaery had just insulted his favourite Quidditch team. Crossing his arms, Loras stared down at Margaery. “Now sister, that’s a bit unfair. Don’t you think?”

Margaery turned away to tie her hair up in a bun, oblivious to her brother’s indignation. She had painstakingly applied Sleekeazy potion to her hair the night before and was determined to protect it from any of the meddlesome vines that lined the walls of the greenhouse. “Hmm?” she said, checking her reflection in one of the windows.

“What is it that has made Divination so fascinating all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always enjoyed divination,” Margaery stated simply, rearranging a stray strand of hair around her ear. She could feel Loras’s eyes on her back.

“Oh really?” Loras scoffed, “Because it was never my impression that you ever really enjoyed gazing into crystal balls? Or have you been gazing at something else? A redhead perhaps?”

At this remark, Margaery spun sharply on the spot. “Have you pruned our plant yet?”

Loras, having been too occupied in tormenting his sister, had not even touched his secateurs.

“So is that a yes? A yes, I want to read Sansa Stark’s tea leaves? ”

Margaery eyes rolled skywards before brushing past him to their work bench.

“Oh, I am good,” drawled Loras. A self satisfied smirk had surfaced on his lips and Margaery couldn’t find the words to try and wipe it off. “Merlin, I have been waiting so long to confront you over this.”

“When did you even find out?” Margaery asked, sliding on protective dragon hide gloves that she had gotten as a gift from her Grandmother.

“Ever since you requested Divination be back on your timetable.” Loras responded simply, now putting on his own protective gloves and goggles. “When we did it last year, we both thought the whole thing was a joke. And Grandmother hates anything to do with omens and fortune telling. You always hear her going on about that Seer - what’s her name? You know, the one that Cersei Baratheon goes to all the time. And since when have you ever done anything that Grandmother hates?”

Loras paused his explanation for the Bubotuber they were pruning had decided to squirt a stream of thick, orange sap in his direction.

“Gross,” Loras muttered, bringing a hand up to his face to adjust his goggles. “Anyway, I knew something was up. Also, every time we were supposed to be staring at our crystal balls, you were staring across the room. I know you think you’re being discreet, but, Marg, I am your brother. I was bound to pick up eventually.”

Margaery, sighing deeply, rested her gardening secateurs on the bench. “Gods, it’s pathetic. Isn’t it?”

“No, of course not.” Loras said, “I honestly think it’s quite smart. Divination is an easy O on your N.E.W.T.S, and you get a little eye candy while you’re at it.” 

Margaery rolled her eyes but she couldn’t help let a smile spread across her lips. 

~

With her hands calloused and sore from her work in the greenhouses, Margaery was relieved to be returning to the warm, safe walls of the castle for her next class. It was only when she found herself at the foot of the staircase leading to the top of the North Tower that she wished that she could have followed Loras down into the castle’s grounds for Care of Magical Creatures. 

When they had both studied divination, the long ascent to the divination classroom had somehow seemed less intimidating. Loras, fit from years of Hufflepuff Quidditch practices, used to tease Margaery for her inability to climb the North Tower without having to pause for breaks. In doing so, Loras often made her laugh in the process, thereby making her lose her breath even faster. It was an altogether tiring ordeal, but at least it was made better with the presence of her brother. But now alone, the spiralling staircase seemed never ending from where Margaery stood at the bottom. 

Margaery was only a quarter way up when she first heard the sound of footsteps other than her own begin to bounce off the walls of the stairwell. Turning to see who had joined her plight, the head of Sansa Stark made its away around the corner. Only moments earlier, Margaery had been convinced that her heart could not have raced any harder than it had been. It was only when Sansa glanced up from her feet and anchored her gaze onto Margarey that the Slytherin could have sworn a beater’s bat had started to strike itself against her chest. 

Unsurprisingly, Sansa had braided back her hair. This morning; however, her classmate had settled for a single, flawless auburn plait that she had wrapped around the back of her neck and left to lay across her right shoulder. Margaery had never really taken to the hair entwining charms developed by the Northern magical community, but somehow Sansa had managed to make them appear beautiful. 

Determined to avoid appearing confunded, Margaery pulled her body into a posture that she hoped would hide the embarrassing degree of exhaustion she was currently experiencing. Having just walked all the way from Herbology, Margaery was painfully aware of her dishevelled appearance. With her green and silver tie tugged loose, her collar unbuttoned and her hair pulled messily into a bun, she could at the very least offer Sansa a smile that she flaunted her perfect set of teeth. 

The redhead returned Margaery's smile shyly, her lips curving in such a way that reminded the recipient that they were only acquaintances. “Hello, Margaery. Did you have a good summer?”

“Yes, I’d say so. Although my brothers and I were forced to spend a good portion of it at my Grandmother’s greenhouses, repotting her mandrakes.” 

Sansa grimaced sympathetically. 

“What about you?” 

Sansa had now reached the step Margaery was currently standing on. The height difference between the two was undeniable, with Sansa at least a head taller than the Slytherin. Margaery usually found that her small stature invited only ever inconvenience. But in this moment, with Sansa towering over her, Sansa had a perfect view of her cleavage. Quite an advantage, in Margaery’s opinion.

“My parents took us skiing,” Sansa had hesitated on the last word, like how one would when rehearsing a new incantation for the first time. “It’s what muggles do when it snows. You strap these long planks to your feet and use them to slide down hills.” 

Margaery’s eyes widened. Margaery, not unlike Sansa, came from a pureblood wizarding family and therefore was unfamiliar with muggle habits and traditions.

“It’s for fun!” Sansa added upon seeing Margaery’s horrified expression. “At least, I think it is? I found it terrifying, personally.” 

“I will never understand muggles.” 

Sansa hummed in agreement, before glancing up towards the empty staircase. “Should we continue?”

They both began to climb the stairs. Sansa's long legs carrying her faster than Margaery could manage. 

“So,” Sansa began slowly. The flight up the staircase was long and Margaery and Sansa had never taken it together before. “Did Loras decide to drop?”

“Unfortunately. He decided that Care of Magical Creatures was more his calling.”

Sansa frowned, “That’s a shame. Jeyne’s abandoned me too.” 

Margaery felt a tiny ray of hope balloon up inside her chest. Jeyne Poole was Sansa’s best friend and, as such, had been Sansa’s Divination partner for the last five years. Personally, Margaery had nothing against the girl. However, Jeyne stuck to Sansa like a wad of spellotape. To hear that Margaery would have finally have Sansa Jeyne-Free was a lovely, unexpected surprise. 

“Actually, I don't think there are that many of us left this year. ”

“I can’t imagine why!” Margaery gasped. Her lungs and legs were aching as she climbed the last couple of steps to the classroom. 

Sansa let out a breathy chuckle, smiling at Margaery’s joke. If Margaery wasn’t gay, she would have felt threatened by something that pretty. 

Finally, the two girls reached the top of the staircase. Margaery, already extremely hot from the climb, was reluctant to enter the classroom that Loras has affectionately named ‘The Furnace’. Sansa, apparently unperturbed, leant in to grasp for the door’s handle. However, just before Sansa could push the door open, Margaery placed her hand gently on her arm, “Would you like to sit with me this semester?” 

“Since we both don’t have partners.” Margaery explained, “And well, I don’t fancy the idea of being stuck with Ygritte. I swear she dropped four tea cups last year.”

Sansa, slightly taken aback, smiled shyly. “Of course.” 

Margaery, beaming, followed Sansa into the classroom. 

~

By the time Margaery stormed into the classroom, with her cheeks bright pink and brows furrowed dangerously, she was late. Loras was already seated, reclining in their usual spot at the back of the room, flipping absentmindedly through the pages of Quidditch Weekly. 

Upon spotting his sister, he immediately cast the magazine aside, “How was divination?”

“Disastrous,” Margaery groaned, dumping her bag of books onto the desk. She made a mental note to look up an incantation that would make carrying the heavy bag up and down the North Tower less of an ordeal.

“Grim, was it?”

Margaery, her eyes narrowed, stared back at a smirking Loras, “Hilarious.” 

“Well,” Loras pressed, “what happened?” He was whispering now, as Professor Mcgonagall had started their lesson.

Margaery carefully began to unpack bottles of ink and parchment from her bag. She was thankful that today’s lesson was purely theoretical. She didn’t think she had the patience for turning rabbits into slippers just right now.

“I asked Sansa to be my partner.”

Loras looked surprised at this information, but said nothing. Instead, gesturing with his quill for Margaery to continue.

“And she said yes and it was all going perfectly.” 

“...Until?”

“Until I realised Sansa is infatuated with our Professor.” 

Loras arched an eyebrow, “Melisandre?” The idea that Sansa Stark, golden Stark child and Hogwarts' Prefect, would be harbouring a crush on a professor was unexpected. However, Loras thought, in hindsight it was not altogether surprising. At least Stark had good taste. Melisandre wasn’t exactly what one would call a troll. 

“I barely managed to talk to Sansa,” Margaery muttered angrily, “She was too preoccupied on trying to get Melissandre to read her palms.”

“Marg,” He said, his tone now serious. “It’s time to up your game. You’ve been pining after Stark for years now.”

“I know that,” Margaery snapped, crossing out a sentence on her parchment with a sharp, deliberate stroke of her quill.

“Do you though?” Loras rested his quill-hand away from his parchment and leaned closer to Margaery, "Have you even hinted that you’re interested?”

Before he could draw any nearer, Margaery’s hand shot up in the air, “Gamp’s Law dictates what can, and cannot be, conjured.” Margaery announced in a sickly sweet voice, before adding, “Professor.”

“Thank you, Miss Tyrell,” announced Professor McGonagall, “Ten points to Slytherin.” 

Margaery gleamed at their professor before scribbling down her own answer onto her parchment in perfect cursive.

Loras rolled his eyes. His sister had an annoying habit of being exceptionally skilled at balancing gossip and class. He had never quite perfected the art himself.

She also had a knack for redirecting conversation from uncomfortable territories.

“Margaery?”

Now it was Margaery’s turn to be exasperated. Sighing, she faced Loras, “She’s aware that I prefer witches. At least I think she does."

Loras waited for his sister to elaborate until he realised that was all that Margaery had intended to say.

“That does not count as a hint. Everyone is well aware of that. Gods, there’s plenty of evidence.”

The responding scowl forced Loras to quickly continue.

“What I mean to say is how have you made it clear that you are interested in her?" He said, this time more gently. "I am by no means questioning Stark's aptitude in divination, but you're placing a rather lot of trust in her ability to read your mind.”

~

After she had been caught acting up in History of Magic the day before, Arya was curious as to how many points had been deducted by their Professor. She gazed over to the house hourglasses, but the altered quantity of emeralds managed to only briefly hold her focus. Rather, it was the two siblings sitting directly under the house hourglasses, Margaery Tyrell and her brother, Loras, that had caught her attention.

The two siblings were eating breakfast together on the Slytherin table. This wasn’t unusual; the two youngest Tyrell’s were rarely seen apart. Loras was reading the Daily Telegraph and, every so often, offered Margaery a commentary on whatever headline dominated the page that morning. Margery, however, looked distracted. Her attention seemed to be far off whatever the Minister of Magic had to say on magical law reform that day.

Margaery’s chin was resting on her palm. Her eyes had a strange, almost hopeful, look to them and her mouth was curved unnaturally into a slight smile rather than a smirk. Arya had seen that look before. She recognised it from the way Gendry’s face rearranged itself whenever veela happened to walk into a room.

Eager to find whatever had caused the sixth year to act in such a strikingly unfamiliar way, Arya immediately followed her gaze across the hall to where it landed on the Ravenclaw table. Arya sniggered.

Samwell Tarly.

“Oi,” she nudged Gendry. “Looks like Tyrell’s got a thing for Sam Tarly.”

Gendry didn’t bother to look up from his plate, finding that his eggs and sausage were more deserving of his attention. “Didn’t Tyrell have something going on with Renly Baratheon?”

“No, not Loras, you great oaf. Look!” Arya gestured towards where Margaery was sitting at the Slytherin table, still caught in her daze. “She hasn’t stopped ogling the Ravenclaws for even a second.”

Gendry washed down his breakfast with a large gulp of pumpkin juice before indulging Arya’s request. In what was done in painfully slow manner for Arya, Gendry looked to Margaery and then to the Ravenclaw table.

“She’s staring at your sister,” he said, bluntly. Gendry promptly picked back up his knife and fork and returned to his breakfast.

“Huh?”

“Sansa’s right next to him,” Gendry said, his words barely escaping through a mouthful of food. He proceeded to swallow, before adding, “You one eyed ogre.”

Arya nudged him in the ribs and, ignoring Gendry’s yelp, retraced her steps. However, instead of stopping at Tarly like last time, she scanned further for the students sitting in his vicinity. And, just as Gendry had said, Sansa was sitting directly opposite Sam.

With her mouth now gaping open, Arya turned back to face Gendry. “No way.”

Gendry raised his eyebrows.

“Margaery can’t like Sansa.”

“How come?” Gendry asked hesitantly.

“Because you know what Margaery’s like!” Arya exclaimed, only to suddenly have to dodge an incoming owl that was carrying a particularly large parcel. “Hey, this isn’t funny!”

“I was laughing at the owl not -”

“Margaery is going to crush Sansa’s heart.” Arya interrupted, straight to the point.

“So what? Margaery moves around a lot.”

“Moves around a lot?” Arya scoffed at Gendry’s indifference. “Margaery would sleep with the Fat Lady if she could.”

Gendry laughed at the surprisingly accurate comment.

Sensing the beginning of classes, Gendry tapped his empty plate with his wand and watched as it promptly disappeared. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he attempted to console Arya’s concern, “I’m sure Sansa can look after herself.”

Following Gendry’s cue, Arya tapped her own plate and stood up from the bench. “You don’t get it, Gendry. Sansa can be kind of an idiot with relationships.”

She collected her Defence against the Dark Arts: A Witch and Wizards Perfect Guide to O.W.L. level Dark Magic textbook off the table, careful not to drag it through the honey that been left carelessly by a first year. Her book was already dirty enough. “She likes to think that love is like some kind of children’s fairy tale.”

“What, and she’s Sleeping Beauty?”

“Huh?” said Arya, confused. They began to walk out of the Great Hall, heading for the North Tower. “Why would Sansa be sleeping?” She assumed it was another one of Gendry’s muggle inventions. Her friend was raised by muggles and therefore, Arya, born into a pureblood family, was inevitably lost in translation from time to time.

“Look,” Gendry sighed, rolling his eyes at his friends muggle illiteracy. “If you’re so worried about Margaery pouncing on your sister, you can always just cast a Bat-Bogey every time Tyrell tries to make a pass.”

Arya stopped suddenly on the staircase, inconveniently blocking the path of several third years walking behind them. “Brilliant idea, Gendry!”

“Arya, I was joking,” he replied, more than aware of the need to make way for the blocked students.

“I’ll sabotage her every advance!” Arya announced, oblivious to Gendry’s attempts to move her by tugging at her robe. “That way she can forget about breaking Sansa’s heart, and move on to the next oblivious bat.”

Gendry sighed, reconciling himself with defeat. “I’m now starting to wish Tyrell did actually have the hots for Tarly.”

Arya grinned, “I’m not! This is going to be so fun.”

Reinvigorated with a new purpose, Arya carried on climbing the staircase, much to Gendry’s relief.

“Now, what hex should I use first?”


	2. Margaery makes some moves

It was common knowledge amongst Hogwarts’ students that Melisandre was one of the more eccentric teachers at the school. Known for her cult-like obsession with fire and light, the Divination Professor insisted on dressing like a living torch. Unlike the dreary, black teaching robes favoured by the majority of the staff at Hogwarts, flowing crimson shawls and blood red dresses served as Melisandre’s wardrobe.

In Margaery’s opinion, it was a bit of an overkill.

However, she could see how someone might become infatuated with Melisandre, despite her own reservations about her teacher’s dress sense. Melisandre’s robes weren’t just unique in terms of colour. The woman had a particular fondness for plunging necklines.

This fondness, as Margaery had come to learn by their sixth divination lesson, seemed to be shared wholeheartedly by Sansa.

“Sansa,” Margaery started, sick of watching Sansa stare at their professor’s chest. “I think it’s time for us to swap cups.” Margaery attempted a smile, but with her jaw clenched as tight as Devil’s Snare, she had doubts over its success.

Up until then, Sansa had been resting her chin on her palm, staring dreamily off to the side. Upon hearing Margaery’s voice, she jolted upright. “Right. Sorry, yes. Hold on-” she grabbed her pink tea cup off the table and proceeded to gulp down the black brew.

Like usual, Melisandre had lit an absolute inferno in the classroom’s fireplace and insisted on drowning her students in waves of scorching hot air. Margaery herself struggled with the sweltering heat. Sansa on the other hand, having been raised in the icebox of the North, looked to be risking heat exhaustion as she downed the steaming tea.

“Here you go,” croaked Sansa once she had finished, dabbing at her mouth with the sleeve of her free hand. A flush was beginning to creep up her face now and the sight of Sansa being so adorably flustered did manage to ease Margaery’s jealousy, even if only slightly.

Margaery reached for the empty cup and brought it directly under her gaze.

“What do you see?” Sansa leant over the table to collect Margaery’s tea cup. “Is my future bright?”

“Nothing yet,” muttered Margaery, swirling the tea cup in her hands. “What are you hoping for?”

Sansa sat back in her chair and gazed towards the ceiling. “I really need at least an Acceptable on my Potions’ essay?”

Margaery smiled as she jotted down some of the symbols found in Sansa’s tea leaves. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Well, I’m sure that anything you get will be better than what Jeyne predicted for me last year. She said I’d catch Dragon Pox over the summer.”

Margaery lifted her eyes from her parchment. “I don’t see any symptoms?” she replied, staring fixedly at Sansa. “You’re still insanely gorgeous.”

The corners of Sansa’s mouth quirked upwards at Margaery’s comment. The smallest of pauses unfolded where the two girls’ simply stared at each other, smiling. And then it was over. Sansa, blushing, redirected her gaze back to her textbook. “I never got it. Jeyne was just atrocious at Divination,” she muttered.

It was a nice moment. But as she watched Sansa attempt to hide her flushed face, Margaery recalled the advice that Loras had told her the week before. She couldn’t just rely on occasional compliment. No, Margaery needed to be more straightforward with Sansa.

Despite having been sorted into Slytherin, that didn’t necessarily mean Margaery couldn’t be as bold as a Gryffindor. Sure, it wasn’t exactly her style. But she needed to be daring for her next move.

She had now narrowed down the symbols in Sansa’s tea leaves to be either a bird or a bat. Honestly, Margaery couldn’t decide. Either way, the associated prediction was painfully boring. The occasion called for some creativity on Margaery’s part, but nothing she couldn’t manage. Smirking, Margaery pretended to scribble down some last couple of notes onto her parchment.

“Found something!” Margaery announced, clutching her textbook possessively to her chest. “Are you prepared to meet your fate?”

 

~

 

“You told her WHAT?”

Margaery, Loras and Renly were standing outside their Potions’ classroom, waiting with the rest of the sixth years to be let inside.

“I told her that I had found a thorned rose in her tea leaves,” Margaery repeated, smirking at her brother’s astonishment.

Loras cackled uncontrollably.

His laugh bounced off the walls, causing a group of Hufflepuffs to turn their heads. Ignoring them completely, Loras clapped his hands together and drew them to his mouth.

“Oh my seven, Marg!” he breathed. “Could you be any less subtle?”

Renly, who had been leaning against the dungeon wall, looked significantly less amused than his boyfriend. “You both know I failed Divination last year. Is anyone going to clarify what exactly a ‘thorned rose’ means?”

“It’s slang for let’s sciss-”

“It’s supposed to represent new love, a new beginning,” interrupted Margaery, bumping a giddy Loras with her elbow. ”And it’s a sapphic symbol.”

Even Renly couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow.

“And what did she say?” Loras had calmed down now, but his mouth was still twitching from glee.

“Well, she just turned bright pink. And then Melisandre-” Margaery uttered the Professor’s name with such venom that Renly and Loras shared an amused glance. “-interrupted us.”

The corridor erupted with noise as the previous class filed out of the dungeon, having just ended their lesson. Loras and Margaery were forced to join Renly up against the wall to make way for the second years.

Resting the back of his head against the cold stone, Loras sighed. “Gods, that is too good. I wonder if she took it seriously?”

“Well, don’t Northerners put a lot of faith in divination? All of the Starks take the subject.” Renly replied, following the two siblings as they walked into the classroom.

“Let’s hope so. That way Marg can finally get laid.”

 

~

Arya could sense that she was running late. She couldn’t actually tell, given that her watch had stopped working three weeks ago. But, judging by the amount of house points she had lost Slytherin for routinely arriving late to her classes, Arya could safely assume that she was testing the bounds of punctuality.

Arya darted up the stairs to the first floor corridor, taking two steps at a time. As she turned the corner, an overwhelming stench of ink and leather enveloped her. Scrunching her nose, Arya braced herself for her least favourite place in the castle.

Arya was greeted by a wall of silence as she entered the school’s library. Trying to walk as quietly as humanly possible, she began to make her way through the maze of book shelves and study nooks. She was approaching the Advanced Charms section when Arya caught the familiar voice Jeyne Poole.

“Sapphic love?”

Jeyne’s voice shattered the silence of the library with the force of a cannonball. Arya, relieved to hear Sansa’s best friend, tracked down the source of the sound. Wherever Jeyne was, her sister would most likely be within a five metre radius.

“Jeyne!” Arya heard her sister gasp. And then, with a little less urgency. “Gods, do you want the whole school to find out?”

Arya picked up her pace.

“I’m sorry, but that is ridiculous. Since when were ‘sapphic’ prophecies ever apart of the school syllabus?”

She turned the corner of the the last shelf. Sitting in the secluded corner of charms section, she spotted Jeyne and Sansa. They sat at a large wooden table hedged in by several rolls of parchment, used quills and N.E.W.T study guides. Jeyne, however, appeared to have forgotten all about her N.E.W.T preparation. Instead, the Ravenclaw had leant back in her chair and was staring skeptically at Sansa.

“Surely Margaery just made it up?”

Arya froze.

“But why would she? She wouldn’t have any reason too.”

Arya took a step back. Then, using the bulk of the book shelf beside her, she attempted to hide from the view of the two girls.

“Unless…” she heard Jeyne trail off.

“Unless what?” Sansa repeated slowly, and then, gasping. “Jeyne! If you’re implying what I think, don’t even bother.”

“Well, Margaery _is_ gay.”

“We, like, barely know each other.”

“Sansa. She practically sent you some kind of lesbian, divination love letter!”

Arya cursed under her breath. How had Margaery Tyrell managed to wrap her gnarly tentacles around Sansa before Arya had been able to do anything?

“She’s probably just goofing around,” Sansa concluded. “Remember how her and Loras would always be giggling in the back of the room whenever we shared classes?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. They were so annoying."

“They weren't _that_ bad. And anyway, with Loras gone, Margaery seems to take divination more seriously. She's really enthusiastic about it, actually.”

A brief pause fell between the two girls.

“What?” Sansa asked, defensively.

“Do you like her?”

“What! No!” Sansa blurted, much to Arya’s relief.

“Well, I don’t know! - I’ve - I don’t think I’ve ever considered it?” Arya’s heart sank. “She’s really smart, and surprisingly funny and…”

“Pretty?”

Arya could practically hear Jeyne’s smirk.

“Well, yes. Obviously, Jeyne,” snapped Sansa.

Arya tried to peek her head around the bookshelf to get a closer look at the two girls. But before she could eavesdrop on the conversation any further, a loud clatter came from directly below her.

“Bloody hell,” Arya groaned.

Falling to the floor were several of Arya’s gobstones. In that moment, she immediately regretted not bothering to pack them in their case after her last game with Gendry. Crouching to the floor, she scrambled to scoop up the golden balls.

“Oh! Arya! Here she is, Sansa.”

“Hi, Jeyne,” she mumbled, picking up the last few gobstones off the ground.

“Gods, finally,” said Sansa, rising from her chair. “Where have you even been? Any later and I would need a time turner.”

“Don’t snap your wand in two, I’m only like -” She checked the broken watch that was wrapped around her wrist.

“Twenty minutes late,” Jeyne supplied. Like Sansa, she too was standing now and had begun to roll up her parchment.

“Yeah, but there were heaps of steps. And this place is like a one of Hagrid’s mazes. Not my fault you got me to meet you here.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. Jeyne, on the other hand, bit her lip in a poor attempt to hide her smile.

“Well, have you got it then? You and Jon are the last ones to give me your cards.”

Arya patted down her clothes before rummaging a hand in the pocket of her pants. She pulled out a crumpled piece of plain, yellow parchment and offered it to her sister. “Here.”

Sansa stared blankly at the note. Then back at Arya. “This is what you’re giving our mother?”

Arya shrugged. “What?”

“Arya. It’s supposed to be a birthday card, not a grocery list.” Sansa slung her bag around her shoulder and picked up her library books up off the desk.

“Hey! I wrote down something nice!”

Resting her forehead against the books now clutched to her chest, Sansa exhaled deeply. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll send it with the rest. Do you have the money for Mum’s present? I’m going to Hogsmeade next weekend.”

Delving into the pockets of her school robes, Arya found a small gold mine of knuts and sickles, along with a rotten apple core and some packets of Droobles Best Blowing Gum. “That should be about two galleons, I think.” She dumped all of the coins into Sansa’s outstretched hand.

“Great,” Sansa muttered, less than enthused to be accepting Arya’s small change. “Still no ideas on the present we should get her?”

“Not really. Something from Dervish and Bangs? There’s a sale on Exploding Sn-”

“Yeah, no. Definitely not. That cannot happen,” Sansa interrupted, shaking her head. “Just leave it to me.”

“Have you had dinner yet, Arya?” Jeyne asked as both girls waited for Sansa to tip the collection of coins into the pocket of her shoulder bag.

“No. I’m starving!” she groaned, rubbing her stomach. “I hope there’s pie.”

“We can walk down to dinner together. I just need to return these.” Sansa nodded to the heavy looking books in her arms. “I’ll be quick!”

Sansa retreated into the book shelves, two elaborate auburn braids swaying behind her. Arya couldn’t help but wonder how her sister could be bothered to put so much effort into her hair every day.

While they waited for Sansa, the two girls talked about Quidditch tryouts and their classes. Arya asked Jeyne about her holidays. She liked Jeyne. The girl was practically family. But, in that moment, Arya didn’t want to hear about Jeyne’s summer. She wanted to ask Jeyne about Margaery Tyrell.

“Hey, so.” Arya started, taking a piece of gum out from its wrapper and popping it into her mouth. “What were you and Sansa talking about earlier?”

Jeyne lifted an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“Something about Margaery Tyrell?”

But before Jeyne could respond, Sansa had rejoined them. Her sister’s eyes narrowed suspiciously on the bubble gum wrapper clasped in Arya’s hand. “You’re going to ruin your appetite.”

Arya responded by blowing a large bubble.

Rolling her eyes, Sansa looped one of her arms through Jeyne’s and walked them towards the exit. Arya, having been cursed with short genes, was forced to walk twice as fast to keep up.

 

~

 

By the time the delicious aromas of the Great Hall reached their noses, Jeyne was finishing a story about her latest prefect patrol in which she had caught a couple of fourth years getting steamy behind a tapestry on the second floor. Sansa had already spiralled into a case of hysterical giggles. Even Arya found herself chuckling. But as they turned around the last corner into to the main entrance, Sansa’s laughter was cut short.

Arya followed Sansa’s gaze over to the far end of the room and found the two Slytherins, Renly Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell, waiting by the entrance to the Great Hall. Margaery, having spotted Sansa, smiled and waved.

Arya could see why Sansa considered Margaery pretty. Her sister was somebody who sighed over flowers, unicorns and famous Quidditch players that could be found on the covers of Witch Weekly. All the things Arya gagged at. Personally, Arya didn’t see what the fuss was about. Margaery had no tattoos or piercings and her hair was long, brown and boring.

Sansa, however, didn’t seem to share Arya’s opinion, as she had now turned a shade of pink that rivalled her own hair colour. She waved back at Margaery, smiling bashfully, before allowing Jeyne to tug her by the arm into the Great Hall.

Arya was furious.

Choosing not to follow Jeyne and Sansa into the Great Hall, she held back in the main entrance until the two girls had walked out of earshot. Then, turning to where the Slytherins were waiting, she marched towards them.

“What time did he say he would get here?”

“Maybe he has Quidditch practice tonight?”

“Shouldn’t you know? He is your boyfriend.”

“He’s your brother!”

“Oi, Tyrell!”

Margaery turned to face Arya, the corner of her mouth lifting into a perplexed smile. “Stark?” she countered, shooting an amused glance to Renly. Despite sharing the same house, Arya had never been bothered to talk to either of the two sixth years before today.

“I want you to stay away from my sister,” Arya said, folding her arms over her chest.

The sixth year’s smile faded in confusion. “Sorry?”

“Sansa. My sister. I’m warning you. Don’t you even think of....” Arya searched for the right words. “Working your temptress ways on her.”

Margaery’s eyebrows made a beeline for the candlelit ceiling. “Temptress ways?” she repeated, slowly.

“You know what I mean!” Arya spat.

“Wow, wow. What’s all this?”

The voice came from her right. Glancing over, Arya spotted Margaery's brother walking towards them. Still dressed in his yellow Quidditch robes, Loras Tyrell was staring at her and Margaery with a quizzical look on his face.

Scowling, Arya spun on the spot and stormed into the Great Hall. She needed to find Gendry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! I'm right in the midst of university exams. But decided to post this before I have to actually start studying! Thanks for all the comments. Keep them coming! They help me find inspo to keep writing. (Also, writing Arya is super entertaining. So how could I resist?).


End file.
